


The Painless Kind of Ink

by kissesfromkrug



Series: 5 + 1 [9]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Love Confessions, M/M, Photographs, Technologically Impaired, There's a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: Brendan has way too many photographs of Alex and way too little knowledge of how printers work.Or, 5 times Brendan attempts to print a picture and the 1 time he just draws it.





	The Painless Kind of Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)

•1•

“Goddammit, this stupid printer,” Brendan complains, kicking it in frustration. “Print the fucking picture!”  
“Having problems there, Gally?” Patches asks, amused. 

“Nope, just trying to convince the fucking printer to work.”

“Has kicking it worked out for you yet?” Brendan steps back and sends him a glare. 

“Fuck off, Cap, I can figure out this douche of a machine in no time.”

“Not talking to it like that, you won’t,” he chuckles, making his way out of the room. Brendan folds his built arms over his chest, staring down the machine. 

“Fuck you, printer.”

“Something wrong?” He turns around to Pricey and Webs watching him with amusement. 

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Trying to find some stick tape for him,” the goaltender says, jabbing his thumb back at the defenseman. “Seems he forgot where everything was in the past three days since we’ve been here.” 

“I just want reminded, you dickhead,” Webs insists. “I know exactly where it is. Can you not give me a fucking tour without treating me like a toddler?”

“Then by all means, take me there, Sir Shea,” Pricey says sarcastically. Seems like they're comfortable enough with each other already.

“Well, there sure as hell isn’t any tape in here,” Brendan grumbles, kicking the machine again. “If this fucking printer would just _work_!” Pricey’s eyes widen, as does his smile. 

“What did you call that?”

“A-a fucking _printer_! What does it look like, you idiot?” Brendan huffs and jabs at a bunch of buttons, making the machine whirr and buzz. He looks in the slot hopefully, but sees no paper emerging. “Fuck this thing, I swear.”

“Are you sure—“ Webs punches him. 

“Shut up, let him figure it out.”

“Just like I’ll let you figure out exactly where the stick tape is?” Pricey sasses, dodging a blow from Webs as they exit the room, both chuckling. Brendan sighs, but upon hearing Beau’s voice, he shouts towards the open door, 

“Nate! Help me out, will ya? This printer’s being an asshole.”

“You mean the fax machine?” Beau laughs upon seeing a frustrated Brendan standing in front of the machine. 

“Wait, what?”

“That’s not a printer, Gally,” he grins. Brendan swears under his breath as Beau continues, “You’ve been a Hab _how_ long and you didn’t know that? It doesn't work like how you think it does.”

“Oh, fuck you.” He supposes he’ll just print out the selfie he took at the top of Mount Washington for Chucky from another machine—a _real_ printer. 

•2•

“Figured out which one to use, eh?” Beau asks amusedly as Brendan stands in front of the _actual_ printer, tapping his foot impatiently. 

“Perfectly well, thank you.” Beau wrinkles his eyebrows but stands and watches as the machine beeps and hums, releasing a single piece of paper. “Whatcha got there, Gally?”

“Mine!” He smacks Beau’s hand and snatches the paper from the slot on the side of the printer. 

“Woah, geez, didn’t mean to make you freak,” he laughs, albeit a tad nervously as he backs a few steps away from Brendan. “Hold up, is that—“

“Fuck off, _Beau_ ,” Brendan growls, holding the paper to his chest and stalking out of the room. “Mind your own.” As he walks down the hallway, he wishes he’d brought a folder or bag or _something_ to hide the picture in. All these weird looks from cleaning people and staff are starting to get to him. 

Brendan gets in his car quickly and sets the picture face-down on the floor on the passenger side. “Just gotta get home and put you somewhere safe so I can figure out what to do with you, okay?” He drives slower than normal, making sure the windows are shut tightly so the paper doesn’t blow around. 

At home, Brendan makes sure he’s the first and only one there before he finally looks at the picture. Black and white. “Are you fucking _serious_?” He groans in annoyance, shaking his head. Just when he thought he knew what to do…he didn’t. 

He sighs and decides he just has to go with it, looking around the apartment to figure out where to put it. On the counter? No, too obvious. In Chucky’s room? Too creepy. Maybe in the living room next to the fish? Brendan wrinkles his nose at the idea, sighing again. 

He retreats to his bedroom and sits on the bed, staring at the picture he took of Chucky and him laying on the couch. Chucky’s in the middle of a rare laugh, and Brendan’s smiling widely. Whenever he was alone, he’d always open his phone and stare at the photo. He’d never, _ever_ admit it, but the image would never fail to turn his heart to mush.

Brendan grabs a piece of paper and a pencil, quickly scratching out a note to go with the photo. He folds the note in thirds and heads to the kitchen. He puts the note under the picture, using a letter magnet to stick them both to the fridge. It shouldn’t take Chucky but five minutes to find them.

•3•

Brendan has decided that using the printer at the Bell Centre is too risky; any one of the guys could see his pictures and tell Chucky, which would ruin the whole surprise. He seemed to be rather pleased with the other one, if blushing and rereading the note at least 10 times was any indication.

This photo is one he didn’t take; rather, Brendan went looking on the Canadiens’ website for some good pictures of him and Chucky. When that was taking too long, he simply typed both their names into the search engine on his computer and found thousands of professional pictures. He was almost starstruck.

Some are of Brendan in his old #73, some are pictures from YouTube videos, others are their crazy cellys on the ice, but the thing that he notices the most are the way they so blatantly _look_ at each other in nearly every photo. Not just looking, he thinks to himself. There’s so much more than that; all their feelings shown just by their positions and movements and—and it’s out on the internet for anyone and everyone to see. _Everyone._

Well. It’s not like Brendan thought they’d keep it secret for long.

A box comes in the mail one day while the two are playing video-games on the couch, and Brendan leaps up to see if it’s what he thought it was. It sure is.

He signs the clipboard, thanks the delivery man, and rushes into his bedroom with the large box. “We are done?” Chucky asks, leaning in Brendan’s room to investigate. 

“No, just—shit—wait a few minutes, okay?” He says, packing peanuts all over the floor and the printer in pieces. 

“You need help?”

“Nope!” Chucky takes a few steps closer and peers at the mess in front of Brendan.

“Why you get...printer?”

“Why wouldn’t we need a printer, I mean, everyone uses a printer sometimes, and besides, the one at Bell sucks, eh?” Brendan rushes out. Chucky frowns and says slowly,

“We do not really need printer…”

“Of course we do, Chuck, now get the fuck out and wait for me.” The younger man shrugs and turns to go, and Brendan breathes a sigh of relief when his footsteps lead down the hallway and into the living room. 

Two hours later, Brendan is just plugging in the printer when an extremely pissed off Chucky appears in the doorway again. “I fucking fell asleep when I wait for you, why the fuck you take so long?” He demands, but Brendan just holds out his palm as he pulls out his laptop. 

“Wait a second.” 

“I wait two fucking _hours,_ I do not want to wait one more—“

“Shut the fuck up, Chucky, I’m doing something.” Chucky grumbles in Russian to himself as the printer beeps, and Brendan leans over and pushes the power button. “Prepare to be amazed!”

“No.”

“Look at this, Chuck, isn’t it nice?” Brendan says after the _color_ printer ejects a piece of paper with a photo of the two of them on it. “Aren’t we adorable?”

“Fuck you,” Chucky spits, but his temper is quickly dissolving. He takes the paper and stares at it for several silent seconds. “Us.”

“Yup.”

“Why?” He looks down at Brendan who’s still seated on the ground next to the printer. The Canadian shrugs casually.

“I like you, and I thought you’d like it, so…” Chucky kneels down next to him, still looking at the paper. 

“Um…I, uh, I like it too.”

Score. 

•4•

“I need to do something creative,” Brendan muses as he sits on his bed in only his plaid pajama pants, staring at the printer. “Something cool, but not _too_ weird…” He smiles to himself as a thought pops in his head. Fuck “too weird”, he’s gonna make it _epic_ , especially since he completely forgot about Chucky’s birthday last year. Brendan won’t make _that_ mistake again. 

To start, he scrolls through the pictures on his phone, most of them selfies of him, Chucky, or them together. Just as he clicks on a particularly dirty one of Chucky, he gets a Snapchat message from none other than his favorite Russian—well, Brendan _supposes_ he could be American…maybe...

> _hey_
> 
> _how r u Chuck?_
> 
> _ok. i could be better_
> 
> _just missing u rn ;)_
> 
> _I miss you too. wish you were here :(_
> 
> _wanna ft?_
> 
> _ok_

“What’s up?” Brendan asks, holding the phone in his left hand as he sits more upright in bed.

“We are in Florida right now; our plane leaves in four hours, I think,” Chucky sighs. 

“Can’t wait to see you again.”

“I miss you.”

“I know.”

“I feel hurt,” Chucky pouts, looking off into the distance with his lower lip jutting out pitifully. “You do not miss me too?” Brendan smiles and says,

“Come on, Chuck, you know I wish you were here.” He asks after a yawn, “You at the hotel still?”

“Unfortunately, yes. They room me with Marky—he snore louder than a fucking elephant walks.” Brendan laughs aloud, and Chucky grins proudly. “They are downstairs for breakfast, but I grab apple and come back here in five minutes.”

“So you’re alone?” Brendan smirks, running a hand through his fluffy hair. 

“I see what you are doing,” Chucky warns, “I am all dressed up to go, I cannot—“

“Of course you can, Chuck, you just gotta take it all off.” His cheeks turn pink as Brendan flips the camera and shows him his lower half. 

“When you talk to me, get you hard?” Chucky asks with the faintest hint of smugness. 

“Nah, just thinking about all the bad things I’m gonna do to you when you come back.” Chucky chokes on the air, and there’s a knock on the door. He holds out the phone at a further length from his body, frowning at the door. “See ya later, _babe.”_ Chucky lets out a soft groan, and Brendan takes a screenshot. 

“I am coming!” He shouts to the person at the door, and Brendan cracks up before he ends the call. He goes to his photos, connects his phone to the printer, and prints out his newest picture of the frustrated and turned on Chucky. 

He hardly needed to do a thing to get the jewel of a photo. 

•5•

“How the fuck does this thing work?” Brendan mutters to Beau, pushing the button on the machine in the drugstore. No, it’s not _technically_ a printer, but yes, it has color. 

“You’re supposed to connect to it through your phone’s wifi network, and then if you push the thing on the other screen—“ Beau pushes Brendan away and takes his phone, sliding buttons and pushing and jabbing until he hands it back. “There. Print whatever you need.” 

“Thanks,” Brendan mumbles gratefully, elbowing Beau away and scrolling through the “Chucky” folder in his photos. 

“You got a whole section for Chuck, eh?” 

“Fuck off, of course not. Why the fuck would _you_ care if I did, huh?” He hides the phone screen from Beau, who smirks. 

“You suck at lying, Gally,” Beau teases, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just use protection, will ya?”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Brendan hisses, shoving him away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know when my teammates are boning though.” Brendan makes a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat, and Beau adds, “I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to?” He raises an eyebrow as if to question his friend, saying it in an almost taunting manner. 

“I’m serious, Nate, don’t fucking tell,” Brendan whispers, letting his defenses down (for once) as his shoulders droop. “ _Please_.” Beau’s eyes widen, and he quickly grips his friend's arm, staring to see if he's serious. Of fucking _course_ Brendan’s serious, is Beau really that much of a dumb-ass?

“I won’t.” He sends Brendan a soft smile before turning to go. He can only hope Beau will keep his word.

He selects a picture from his camera roll and watches as the machine makes all sorts of faint noises, eventually releasing the image onto glossy photo paper. “Perfect,” Brendan smiles, sticking it in a package and paying the cashier before heading home.

Chucky’s already there, playing Xbox live and shouting in Russian at someone, laughing and probably cussing them out. “Chuck!” Brendan shouts, and he looks up and frowns.

“I am busy, you see?” He complains, but Brendan takes off his headphones and tosses the controller to the other side of the couch. “Motherfucker—“

“Shut up and look what I got you, Chuck, I, uh, I hope you’ll like it more than a video-game,” he interrupts, handing his teammate the folder. Chucky’s next words—probably curses—die in his throat as he takes out the picture.

“Us.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s us. Uh.”

“ _Yes_ , Chuck, I know, it’s us making out,” Brendan sighs, yet unable to keep the smile off his face. “Do you, uh, d’you like it?” His heart begins to race uncontrollably, and he begins to think that maybe he picked the wrong picture to print out, maybe Chucky doesn't even like the picture, maybe it's too inappropriate for a printed photo, maybe he—

“Um.” Chucky gently sets down the picture, swiftly turning to Brendan and grabbing his chin. “What you think?” Pulling Brendan down onto his lap, he kisses him fiercely, and just like that, they melt into each other like wax in flame, two becoming one in mere seconds.

•+1•

“I can’t just do it again, that’s not original,” Brendan complains to himself. “What am I gonna _do_?” He paces around their apartment, hands folded thoughtfully behind his back. “What will I—“

“Sit your ass down in kitchen, we have good breakfast today,” Chucky announces, interrupting his thoughts. Brendan jumps from fright and sniffs the air, the pleasing aroma of batter and chocolate reaching his nose.

“Whatcha got for me, Chuck?” He asks with a lopsided grin.

“Pancakes! I learn from Patches,” Chucky says proudly, setting a large plate in front of each of them. “They are good?”

“Mmhmmm, hell yeah!” Chucky laughs at his teammate as he chews the chocolatey food, digging in with his fork as well.

“Good?”

“Fuck, yeah, I didn’t know you could make pancakes,” Brendan says, his voice muffled around a massive chunk of pancake.

“I did not either.” He laughs at Chucky, who suddenly frowns and puts his chin in his hand as if to think. His elbow is propped on the table, and Brendan stealthily photographs the adorable moment. “You photo me?” He demands, but the Canadian just laughs it off. 

“Nah, look at this bomb-ass selfie I just took,” Brendan says, quickly scrolling through his camera roll and finding one he hadn’t shown Chucky. Unfortunately, that happened to be one of him making quite possibly the ugliest face in the world.

“The fuck?” Chucky’s gripping the phone now, smiling bigger than he has in days. “ _You_ took that? And save it too?”

“I, uh—“

“You look so fucking bad,” Chucky laughs loudly, making some sort of honking noise that sends Brendan into fits of giggles. He knows exactly what to do to get Chucky a great photo.

Over the course of several weeks, dozens of YouTube videos, and hours upon hours upon _hours_ of sketching, erasing, frustration, coloring, and shading, Brendan finally finishes his creation. He smiles down at the drawing of Chucky with chocolate on his lips and chin, staring thoughtfully into the distance. He’s sure that this is better than any drawing he’s ever done in his life, by far. Grade school art classes didn’t really do much for him.

One night after a rough win against Ottawa, Brendan drives himself and Chucky home. The American is prepared to flop down on his bed and sleep the night away, but Brendan’s still on edge. “Why are you so alive?” Chucky grumbles, trying to push past him to head to his bedroom.

“I-I have something for you,” Brendan says, swallowing hard. He’s never usually this nervous around his roommate, who frowns.

“What?”

“This.” He hands the drawing to Chucky in an envelope, and he snorts.

“Really? You could give it to me not in this thing,” he says, going completely silent for a moment as he sees the drawing. “Me.”

“You.” Chucky bites his lip, unsure of what to say.

“It is good.”

“I’m, uh—“ Brendan chokes on his words and clears his throat several times. “I’m glad you like it.” He pauses. “Wait, do you like it? You don’t have to say y—“

“No, I _love_ it. And you. I love you.” Brendan feels like all the breath has been knocked out of him, and he simply nods.

“Yeah, um. You, uh, I lo—I love you. I, um, I mean it, Chuck. I swear.” Chucky raises an eyebrow, and Brendan has no choice but to bring him into a bone-crushing hug. “I really do.” Brendan breathes in through his nose, face buried in Chucky's shoulder, and grins widely.

Chucky smells like chocolate.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a lot of stories on my computer for a while, so I'm posting some of them on here in a spam. Sorry not sorry?  
> (Some of the ones I post I come up with on the spot though ;D )


End file.
